


Goddess of Fruit and Seed

by Kiwi Stubbly-Punk (cranky__crocus)



Series: Harry Potter Fests '11 [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: samhain_smut, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-23
Updated: 2011-10-23
Packaged: 2017-11-05 12:40:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/406486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cranky__crocus/pseuds/Kiwi%20Stubbly-Punk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pomona always has her work cut out for her on Halloween. Thankfully she always finds the perfect helpers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goddess of Fruit and Seed

**Author's Note:**

> Written for samhain_smut (Livejournal community) for 2011. More here when I've re-read and edited.

"You want me to _what?_ "  
  
"I told you. I know you heard through your selective hearing—"  
  
"I do _not_ have selective hearing—"  
  
"And I thought it might interest you to know that Wilhelmina is assisting."  
  
"—and I am offended at the thought that—oh? Wilhelmina is…?"  
  
"Yes. She agreed without question."  
  
"Well. You do ask a lot, you know. This is one of the most difficult nights for discipline; all staff must be on their toes. Students and sugar was not a combination created with schooling in mind."  
  
"And yet it _is_ a Saturday evening. There are others with sturdy tongues around."  
  
"Then yes, perhaps I will come tonight."  
  
"I hope to see that you do."  
  
  
"Can never find the right bloody knob…" Pomona muttered to herself in the back of greenhouse four as she worked two fingers in the soil of a potted plant. At last her fingers grazed the correct root nodule; the plant stiffened immediately. A door appeared in what had been the back wall of the greenhouse.  
  
Pomona removed her fingers from the soil and replaced the stone that held its place. The plant softened with a barely audible 'coo.'  
  
She walked through the doorway to the hidden greenhouse and moved to start her preparations, the door closing and morphing back to glass behind her.  
  
  
Not long later, Pomona heard the sound of knocking all around her and smiled. That would be Wilhelmina, then. She hurried to the aisle and then down to the entrance, which no one else would consider such for it had not entranceway.  
  
This did not stop Pomona, for she removed her wand and set the tip against what appeared to be the slightest crack in the glass; it widened to reveal a door that in turn opened to reveal a smiling Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank.  
  
"I know we're s'posed to habituate to magic, but I find I haven't when it comes to secret passages," Wilhelmina announced in lieu of a greeting, with which she hardly bothered around good friends. "It still excites the Muggleborn first-year in me, I suppose."  
  
Pomona chuckled and welcomed her into the greenhouse, closing and sealing the door behind her guest. "I don't know, pureblood games of hide-and-peek always involved spelled spaces and I never tire of them."  
  
"Hot in here," Wilhelmina murmured. She pulled her robes away from her body as she took in the greenhouse. After a moment, she turned and grinned. "Did you say hide and _peek?_ "  
  
"We all have our little secrets," Pomona responded with a sly smile, "and this is one of mine."  
Wilhelmina gave a look that clearly expressed her interest in the other secrets but said nothing of it. Instead, she inquired, "What now?"  
  
"We wait to see if our Lady of the Loch arrives." Pomona motioned to the chairs set out just off the aisle.  
"Do you think she's coming?"  
  
"She will if she attends."  
  
The sly smile was back. She probably deserved the elbow to her waist, too, but the cost was worth the prize of Wilhelmina's chortle.  
  
  
When next a knock sounded around the greenhouse, Wilhelmina was standing almost before Pomona recognised the sound.  
  
"Wand to the crack," Pomona instructed with a knowing smile at Wilhelmina's obvious hurry, "and think of a door opening."  
  
The woman didn't respond verbally; Pomona read the gratitude in her friend's face before she was off toward the entrance.  
  
Pomona _did_ hear Wilhelmina's gasp, which brought her out of her seat and quickly to the aisle where she could see Wilhelmina and their newest arrival.  
  
"You're in Muggle getup?" Wilhelmina breathed, taken aback. Pomona could picture her wide eyes.  
  
"Astute of you to notice, Willa, yes," Minerva replied as she stepped through the door and into the greenhouse with steps in quick succession; Pomona was surprised, given the heel on her shoes. "I mentioned to Filius that it would be nice to see the students in costumes—school-appropriate costumes!—for Halloween and he doubted my abilities to inspire such a school-wide phenomenon."  
  
Wilhelmina's laughter interrupted Minerva's speech, though her gaze continued with a new line of accusatory sentiment. Wilhelmina sobered, the hint of a smile remaining as she clarified, "You told the kids you'd dress in fancy dress if they did, didn't you?"  
  
"That I did." Minerva gestured to her costume. "I stick to my word. Gryffindor and Hufflepuff were all in costume—thank you, Pomona—and Ravenclaw was well represented. I have a feeling Filius didn't give them the push he could have." She paused as her eyebrows drew closer together. "I expect the house points inspired the Slytherins."  
  
"That or your legs," Pomona quipped, eyebrows jumping up her forehead. "You're sure you're over 80?"  
  
"Quite," Minerva answered tartly. Regardless, the corner of her lips quirked up and her eyebrows loosened over affectionate eyes. "I see you're the only Hufflepuff without costuming."  
  
"Perhaps because I spent the last month perfecting sewing charms—without Filius, of course." Pomona pulled her wand from her robes and flicked it at her head. She felt the weight on her hair shift—a different hat—and saw a mole appear in her far peripheral; her robes turned pitch black and somewhat ratty. "There. Now I'm a witch."  
  
"Honestly, Pomona, I do doubt your sense of humour sometimes."  
  
Wilhelmina, who had taken in the interaction with great amusement, at last spoke again. "I feel terribly out of place, now, no costume or students to speak of."  
  
"You may have _all_ the students," Minerva retorted without hesitation. She paused to take in Wilhelmina's form and face; the woman flushed minimally under the scrutiny—top marks, for someone being inspected by the one and only Minerva McGonagall. "Would you care to match me?"  
  
"It'd be a privilege."  
  
With one circle and swish of Minerva's wand, Wilhelmina's apparel morphed to that of a Muggle tuxedo—top hat to bowtie to shining black shoes. Minerva's inspection began again, harder this time for it was of her own work. At last she nodded. "It shall suffice."  
  
"For the next Ministry wedding, yes indeed," Pomona corrected; she followed the statement with a sharp whistle through her teeth. She turned toward one corner of the greenhouse and started walking; her words sounded over her shoulder. "You won't be wearing them for too long anyway."  
  
Pomona stopped in time to watch from the corner of her eyes: the two hurried forward, neither catching the other's eye.  
  
"If you'll just take a seat on one of the cushions…" Pomona dipped her head to the three deep cushions placed along a row of rather lush-looking flowered plants. "They should keep you comfortable."  
  
Wilhelmina took in the flower before her, which possessed anatomy astonishingly similar to…she crossed her legs, which drew a grin from Pomona. "And why are we doing this again?"  
  
Minerva nodded along, although her action held more challenge than Wilhelmina's words, for the latter was curious for the scientific foundation.  
  
"This is a magical species of the _Clitoria_ genus. It's incredibly rare, as it won't attract or accept its pollinating wasp until its flowers have been...sated. The fruit is a potions ingredient and is medicinally prescribed for holistic healing of scrofungulus." Pomona laughed upon realising that she had slipped into her teacher shoes again. She never did intend to among colleagues, but it couldn't always be helped, especially when they inquired after her work or intended to help her with its more intimate requirements.  
  
"Wouldn't do too well among the Muggles, I'm guessing," Wilhelmina mumbled to herself as she inspected the delicate folds of the petals.  
  
"The flowers can give off some pretty heady hallucinogens. Studies say—" but Pomona stopped herself. There were times for 'studies say' statements, but this was not one of them. "They're great, though, aren't they? Look at the leaf-bracts: they're tomentose—see the hair?"  
  
"Yes, we do," Minerva cut in, her patience for science at this time clearly limited. "Very realistic. I assume we can take it from here?"  
  
Pomona nodded and kneeled on her own cushion. She turned to her friends. "I only have six plants and each plant produces only one of this flower type—risky business!—so we'll each have one more after this. Any technique should do; they don't last the full proportion, thankfully, or cultivators would never have time to talk—"  
  
"I can imagine," Minerva remarked. Her eyes looked positively devilish. "First to the Snitch, then?"  
  
"Only you would rush—" but Minerva was nose-deep in her flower before Pomona could complete her critique, so she opened her lips and pressed them to petals instead. She was tonguing the crease between the sepals and petals when she heard Wilhelmina speak.  
  
"How do they make sound?"  
  
Pomona, who was practised at her annual duties, tended to miss certain aspects that she would of course have noticed during her first few years. She laughed into the flower, which gave a loud-but-satisfied squeak and shivered.  
  
"Oh, it's an adaptation of the stipule and a modification of the stalk—" but again Pomona noted that her speech would do no good, for with her face pressed to a flower and her tongue otherwise engaged, her words amounted to little. "Ne'rmin'," she heard herself in actuality, "'splain la'er."  
  
She turned her attention to the collection of pistils at the top of the flower, beautifully shaped as one shy mound by the petals that cradled them. Pomona smiled to hear the chiming call of her plant as she gently sucked at its stigmas and slipped one digit into the cool, soft entrance between two petals. The petals gripped her; she could feel the trembling leaves…  
  
But the telling trumpet sound beside her announced that Wilhelmina had won. Seconds later, a lower trumpet announced its arrival further down the lane.  
  
"Double or nothing," she heard immediately after. Dear Dingleweeds, those two were _competitive_.  
  
Her plant trumpeted not long after; she smiled at the flow of delicious nectar that coated her tongue. She lapped it up and pulled back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as she used the other to stroke one of the plant's triad of leaves. "Not too bad, mm?"  
  
Minerva licked her lips. "After all the metaphors, it's a delightful surprise to find _real nectar_."  
  
"Sweet floral taste," Wilhelmina agreed, grunting as she wiped her mouth on her sleeve—Minerva noticed and tutted. "I like it."  
  
"More where that comes from," Pomona reminded as she glanced over at the other row of plants. "And it seems you two are in a hurry."  
  
"Only to regain my honour," Minerva reminded with a side-long glance to Wilhelmina. "I always find that a healthy rivalry has an advantageous effect on the workplace."  
  
Wilhelmina didn't seem bothered either way; she was back to staring intently at the flower. "When do the wasps come in, then?"  
  
"I've only got the female plants here. Later tonight Filius and I will bring the potted males and he will, erm, release the wasps through a similarly intricate process from the male flower, where they've grown…" Pomona took a breath to remove the image of Filius and his flower-phallus fellatio.  
  
"Coevolution—fascinating, isn't it?"  
  
"That's a word for it," Minerva commented, clearly trying to remove a similar image. "Not a time to dilly-dally, now, back to work with us."  
  
Pomona was pleased with Minerva's dedication to the cause—whether it was for floral pollination preparation or mind erasure, Pomona wasn't particularly bothered. She did find herself vastly entertained as Wilhelmina and Minerva's flowers trumpeted in a precisely synchronised manner; Minerva's red face indicated she was less or more than thrilled.  
  
"Are they still humming?"  
  
Wilhelmina's question pleased Pomona as the three stood facing away from the _Clitorias_ and toward what Pomona knew to be their next job.  
  
Minerva's question, immediately after, looked only forward: "Pomona, is that a _bed?_ "  
  
"Yes, Willa, they'll hum for a while yet; you'll get used to it and hardly hear it at all, I'm sure."  
  
"I shouldn't mind either way," Wilhelmina decided, smiling softly. It was nice to have a melodious reminder of a job well done.  
  
Minerva had her own reminder. "And the _bed_ , Pomona?"  
  
"Er, yes, there's a bed." Pomona strode toward it, all the confidence in her steps and not her words. "It's rather comfortable by my reckoning. See for yourselves."  
  
"There is little more suspicious in the world than being in a room with you and an unexplained bed." Minerva's foot tapped. "You mentioned a ritual but, if I recall, you were hazy on the details."  
  
Pomona chuckled. "Was I?" Minerva's expression was every sort of confirmation. "These here are a species of the _Rhododendron_ genus. The few of us who work with them tend to call them the 'Zapping Saps.'"  
  
"Now I don't know whether you should ask about the Zapping Saps or the bed," Wilhelmina offered with a grin. She received an authoritative tap from Minerva's pointed-toe heels and bit back a laugh.  
  
"Since you always go with the plant, I'll stick with the bed."  
  
Pomona continued her plant spiel, for it was as far as her mind had managed to get even with its racing. "Beautiful flowers, this lot, but they've already been pollinated; these ones are holding back their fruit and seeking energy. They're not very nice to other plants—poisoning root system and all, slow chemical warfare down there—but they're not too bad on people."  
  
Minerva appeared to be adding things up behind her square spectacles. Her expression was unreadable.  
"Does 'seeking energy' and 'not too bad on people' work to explaining the bed, Pomona?"  
  
The woman shifted.  
  
Wilhelmina did the same. The two looked down to see the reasoning behind her movement: a tendril had crawled above her shoe and beneath her trouser leg to brush her skin. Judging by Minerva's similar side-step, a tendril had successfully scaled her heel.  
  
"The plants picked you," Pomona said. She turned to the plants' dark green leaves. "It picks those who are most drawn to each other, those it thinks it can use to sap off some excess energy; first it zaps them with a few chemicals to increase the interest. It was once used as a test of true love, but after the backslash it was placed under strict legislation. Scorned lovers had a tendency to go after it, thinking it had denied or broken their love…but the plant doesn't look only for love, it looks for chemistry and attraction. Research reports Halloween as the best night for it to receive energy and drop the most potent fruit."  
  
Minerva briefly rubbed her ankle as she took it all in. She frowned, but by the motions of her fingers on her ankle—less rubbing now and something more akin to stroking—she seemed interested. "You're telling me those plants have chosen Wilhelmina and me to use this bed?"  
  
"It isn't picky about arrangements." Pomona turned to Minerva and regretted the ease of her humour.  
  
"You don't have to. I have a lotion here that should ease anything the plant did."  
  
"You spoke to Poppy about this, didn't you?" Wilhelmina questioned at last. She looked as though a recent puzzle piece had just completed a full landscape behind her eyes. "The looks she's given me and things she's said lately…"  
  
Pomona bit back her laughter, careful to remain serious in the moment. "She's helped me a few times with the _Clitoria_ flowers while you've been together and with the _Rhododendrons_ a long time before, so she knows how it all works out. We shared a pint the other day and I had already thought of you for the _Clitorias_ , but she suggested you for the _Rhododendrons_ , too. She knew she wasn't available and of your history with Minerva…"  
  
"It has been half a century!" Minerva exclaimed, though her fingertips were now set to brushing the side of her thighs with heightened frequency.  
  
Wilhelmina seemed puzzled but recovered quickly. "My partner is trying to set me up."  
  
"You're not exclusive, though, are you?" Pomona inquired, wondering if she had scrambled up her staffroom snoop-scoop.  
  
"No, that's true. It's just been a while since we've acted on it, with wars and re-building magical Britain—"  
"She did demand a detailed description."  
  
Wilhelmina chuckled. "Sounds like her." She turned to Minerva. "But there is no pressure on you whatsoever."  
  
"That's a pity," Minerva lamented as she massaged one of her calves with her other shin. "I could do with a little pressure."  
  
Wilhelmina flushed darker than she had been after the plant-zap. Pomona decided it was her time to duck out.  
  
"The Zap-Saps like couples most, but I'll head off and help out on my own." She was pleased when her words barely registered with her companions.  
  
No, they looked busy enough, with Minerva's leg wrapped behind Wilhelmina's trousers, firmly grasping; Wilhelmina held Minerva's breast, thumb steadily stroking, through the fabric of her Muggle dress.  
  
Above it all, their lips were locked, and in all their interest they failed to close their eyes.  
  
Pomona turned away from their intimate moment and hurried away to the far side of the bushes, off in the corner. They had decades of desire for each other that needed releasing; Pomona had a feeling her stock of zapfruit would be her best yet.  
  
Despite the heat of the greenhouse, the air felt cool against the skin where Pomona's costume robes had been. She rested on a little bed of her own far behind the _Rhododendrons_ ; she hadn't been zapped, but she could see they were attuned to her as well.  
  
Pomona drew circles over her skin, starting with the sensitive palms of her hands and working up her forearms to the inside of her upper arm—a tantalising and slightly ticklish trail—where she met the ample flesh of her breasts, all softness and supple charm. She traced the line between them and cooed, smiling as she swirled a circle around her navel. Her fingers swept across her belly without pattern or precision, catching her by surprise each time and delighting her with the dance of it.  
  
Her toes were less dexterous than her fingers, but even trailing her toes along the opposite leg drew her lower body into the frenzy. Her toes curled as her fingers reached the start of coarse hair between her legs.  
  
She could feel the rest of her body catching on to what was happening: fun time, play time, pleasure time.  
Pomona smiled at the feel of her fingers snaking further into her glorious garden of dark curls. She pulled at the area, gentle but firm, and hissed through her teeth at the pleasant mix of sensations.  
  
What set her aflame more than her own touch, she recognised, was the sounds she could hear: Wilhelmina's grunts and gasps, Minerva's quiet moans and heavy breath, the movement of two bodies at the height of pleasure and activity. The sounds alone set Pomona's body aflame, let alone the images it brought to mind.  
  
She could feel it grasp her by the clit and course around her body, all active heat and full attention. She flipped herself and sat astride a pillow, which she dug under until she grasped textured surface of a tapered, slightly-curled little gourd; she could hardly help that it was the perfect shape, plant or no. Grinning, she placed it on the pillow and straddled it, breathing aloud as it entered her and fit snug against her.  
  
Pomona thought the swelling sounds of her friends' activities would drive her mad. Instead, it was the fantasy of their faces in the climaxes to come, stopped in a second of utmost pleasure, decades of pent-up passion for the other released throughout their bodies, freeing their minds and entering straight into her plants as it left their bodies.  
  
At that thought, Pomona ground against the gourd and pillow with swift but steady sweeps of her hips, strong thighs working hard beneath her. She clutched her breasts and tweaked her nipples. When she thought she could handle no more—and could hear Minerva's keening moans—her hands drifted apart, one to press harder against her clit and one to thread fingers into her hair, each through dampened curls.  
  
Her groans turned to hoarse barks as her body held the gourd tighter inside her and she shook with trembles and shivers. Her eyes closed and she saw colours; her body fell back against the bed, too exhausted to hold her up in that position. She thought the colours must have been flowers—rhododendrons.  
  
Pomona wondered if Minerva and Wilhelmina had seen the same. From the sound of it, Wilhelmina might have been seeing them as she thought it. Pomona marvelled at the feel of the air against her naked skin, seeming to blow at the moisture found there.  
  
Wilhelmina and Minerva's pleasure echoed in her mind, enough that she thought her ears were deceiving her.  
  
"Pomona!"  
  
Apparently not.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Join us."  
  
Pomona felt a sting and a zap of energy to her wrist; she turned to see a tendril disappearing into the topsoil. She grinned. So she was wanted after all.  
  
  
Minerva and Wilhelmina proved to be just as skilled on the _Rhododendron_ bed—and against the greenhouse wall—as they had in their dedicated _Clitoria_ work. Pomona felt she could not have asked for better colleagues on Hallows Eve.  
  
And, she was overjoyed to learn, her noises had not been missed during their first round; indeed, Pomona had apparently been just as much the aphrodisiac. Pomona was pickled tink—or so she responded, only to flush more and damn her tongue; the others strongly disagreed.  
  
Pomona explained that she would be back much later with Filius to release the pollinators and gather the _Rhododendron_ fruit, so they could all head out together to shower and check in on students.  
  
Minerva stopped on her way to the door. She was staring at a quiet-looking set of plants in a corner of the greenhouse they hadn't touched. She uttered her first real question of the evening about a plant: "What are those?"  
  
Pomona felt moisture in her eyes; she blinked it away. "Those I kept for Severus. Rare plant—great ingredients for sleeping potions. They only survive well when read to, and they're most potent when read erotic literature… Severus always wished to create his own slumber potions, so late on Halloween, when I harvested the dropped _Rhododendron_ fruit, he used to come in and read to them. He even pretended not to notice when I was clearly listening."  
  
Minerva's features seemed stuck between guilt, soft affection and dry amusement; Pomona read the twitches of her friend's face as best she could.  
  
It was Wilhelmina who moved—placing a firm hand on Pomona's shoulder—and spoke first. "I'll do it this year; Poppy told me Irma's away with her grand-children. Don't worry about it. You two shower up and see to his grave."  
  
"Thank you, Wilhelmina." Pomona dipped her head and turned to Minerva, noticing a lock of loose greying-black hair. She twirled it slowly about her finger once and spelled it back up, then grasped Minerva's hand. "Severus would be insufferable if he knew we didn't keep his grave tip-top tidy—and it's All Hallows, so he may well know now! Or imagine if he saw his precious Slytherins in fancy dress…"  
  
"I'd like to hear it," Minerva murmured; she squeezed Pomona's hand. "And Filius' rebuttal. What would Severus say to all of this?"  
  
"He would say that you've still got all the luck and he's still stuck reading bed-time tales. That you are a true Headmistress, too, and the worst sort of _Gryffindor_ ever to be suffered." Pomona drew them out of the secret greenhouse and threw a grateful look over her shoulder to Wilhelmina, who had Summoned one of her favourite erotic novels. Pomona attempted to change the subject. "Would you like to hear about pumpkins?"  
  
"No thank you," her companion answered, nose upturned. "I've had quite enough of them, what with the juice, pies, dinners, desserts and decorations."  
  
"I'll tell you about gourds instead, then. But first, did you know that Halloween is occasionally connected to feasts for Pomona, Roman goddess of fruit and seeds?"  
  
"That I could get behind. Perhaps I'll join you again next year."  
  
"Perhaps."

  
"But what of the gourd?"

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
